


A Lifetime Supply of Breakfast Sandwiches

by Barbarismbeginsathome



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baze is a cute middle aged grumpy hipster, Baze is a veteran, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Haircuts, M/M, Makeover, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 14:16:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10855695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbarismbeginsathome/pseuds/Barbarismbeginsathome
Summary: Baze tries to relate to The Youth by way of letting his coworkers give him a makeover. It goes about as well as you'd expect.





	A Lifetime Supply of Breakfast Sandwiches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kittenfightclub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenfightclub/gifts).



> Baze really doesn't like change.

Baze had never really been stylish. He considered it a stroke of luck that flannel shirts and torn jeans were back in fashion, or at least that they weren't strictly *out* of fashion. 

And okay, having a blind husband took away a lot of incentive to care very much about what his clothes looked like. His morning routine consisted of throwing on whatever was clean, trimming his beard (but not too short, of course- Chirrut liked the beard) and taking his hair out of the messy bun he slept in- he read somewhere that it prevented split ends, and Chirrut enjoyed the easy kissing access to the back of Baze's neck when they spooned. 

Really, his hair was the one area where vanity, or maybe just sentimentality, if he was being charitable, got the better of him. It had grown long and wild and, well, pretty since his military days, framing his face and falling over his shoulders in a way that made him feel every bit the ancient warrior he'd always wished he was back then. The irony wasn't lost on him. 

It served him well- covering the too-large ears he'd always been shy about and drawing attention away from his scars- and he treated it well in return. 

So he was really fucking confused as to why he'd agreed to all this. He was gripping the armrests of a salon chair while his two youngest coworkers, a bubbly guy named Roz and a soft-spoken girl named Jessica, discussed the terms of his "new look" with a woman who looked far too excited to get her hands on his hair. 

They meant well, he knew that- they wanted to help their unhip middle-aged coworker get his groove back or whatever they were saying these days, fuck if he knew. They'd already bought him several pairs of fitted jeans and button down shirts and a few accessories he was sure he'd never wear. And this, this fresh hell, was supposed to be a surprise. 

Baze tried to ignore the dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. They were his friends, he reminded himself. They liked him, he liked them, they got lunch together and he taught them the proper way to carve a simple leaf pattern into the desks their wood shop specialized in. But still he found himself biting his lip and clearing his throat. 

"Um, Jess- it won't be short, will it? I..." he trailed off. 

Jessica smiled and patted his shoulder. "Baze, don't worry, okay? We're not going to hurt you." Roz nodded in sincere agreement, but Baze wasn't sure if he liked the twinkle he saw in his eye, one that reminded him of a game show host about to tell someone they'd picked the wrong door and were about to win the lifetime supply of breakfast sandwiches instead of the sports car. Not malicious, but definitely mischievous. 

The stylist, whose name tag read "SUSAN" in bubble letters, gave him a similar smile in the mirror. 

-

Baze was expecting not to like it. He was expecting to lose a few more inches than he would have appreciated, and maybe a day or two of moping around he house until he got used to it. 

He was not expecting to have a furrow shaved down the middle of his head. He'd had an undercut in college, so he was familiar with the sound of a razor tearing its way through the hair at the back of his neck. That had been fine- wearing his hair down had been an easy coverup. But this, even if he could find the words to ask Susan to stop, would not be a quick fix. He felt numb more than anything, but by the time half his head was mostly bare, he couldn't control the tears. 

He could handle the new clothes, but this was not something he could take off at the end of the day. His shoulders shook so hard Susan had to stop for fear of nicking one of his stupid fucking ears that the whole stupid fucking world was going to see now. She left to get him a glass of water while Jessica awkwardly dug into her purse for a tissue. 

"Shh, hey, it's all gonna be okay. I'm so sorry, Baze, we should have asked- we just figured change is good sometimes, right?" Roz asked sheepishly, trying to take one of Baze's hands. He pulled away. 

"N-no, it's really not. Chirrut won't even recognize me now- I've had my hair long for twenty years- I j-just..." he felt his voice crack and stopped to take a sip of the water Susan had brought. He tried and failed to relax and dry his eyes with Jessica's tissue, but as soon as the razor started up again, it was pointless. 

The ride home was awkward, to say the least. 

\----

Chirrut could hear Baze's sobs from outside the front door, and Baze was met with a tight hug as soon as he opened it. 

"Are you hurt?" Chirrut asked, soothing voice tinged with worry. 

"N-no. I'm fine," Baze mumbled. "I just... I'm..." 

The tears were back in full effect. "My hair..." was all he could get out before Chirrut nodded slowly and pulled him closer into the embrace.  
He hated the tinge of nerves he felt- Baze needed him, now wasn't the time to worry about new textures. He felt guilty. Baze would always be Baze, of course, but by the sound of it, the change was drastic. 

"Ah. May I see, starlight? I'm sure it's not so bad." 

He heard Baze's bitter laugh. "It is. I... I cried in front of people, Chirrut, I can't go back out like this- it's *that* bad." He sniffled quietly and Chirrut ran a thumb over his cheekbone, brushing another tear away. 

"Nonsense, Baze. You don't have to show me if you're not comfortable, but I promise, there's nothing in the world that could make you stop being the most beautiful man in the galaxy." He pressed his fingertips lightly against Baze's lips, hoping for a smile. 

That was too much to ask, evidently, but Baze's lips parted with a soft sigh. 

"Okay," he grunted. "But *please* don't panic. I hate it enough already, I don't... I don't want to upset you." 

Chirrut's expression melted into a soft smile. It was like Baze, of course, to worry about what Chirrut would think, how Chirrut would feel, in a situation like this. Chirrut suspected the tears were the result of a mixture of Baze's own grief paired with fear that Chirrut would somehow stop thinking he was special. 

Baze prided himself on his ability to read people, but he could be shockingly inept when it came to Chirrut's thoughts about Baze himself. 

Chirrut played into it. "Nothing in the world," he repeated, slowly, as if explaining to a child, "could make me stop loving you, Baze." 

With that, Baze's head bowed submissively onto Chirrut's shoulder and a fresh wave of tears soaked the fabric of Chirrut's t-shirt. 

"Okay," Chirrut murmured, "I'm going to look now, if that's all right." Baze nodded, and Chirrut let the palm of his hand fall unceremoniously onto the top of Baze's head. 

"Okay...." he repeated, more to himself than to Baze. He ran his hand from the soft, velvety crown to the back of Baze's neck where the hair was cut even shorter, down to bristle. It was a throwback to elementary school, Chirrut thought. A boy's haircut. He guessed that was the intention- Baze had complained about looking old to the kids he worked with, and they'd tried to help. Chirrut hadn't felt many heads other than Baze's lately, but from what he understood it wasn't an unstylish look- not that it mattered much to Baze, of course. 

But it had its charm- Baze's neck was on full display now, as were his ears- and there was something alluring about that fact. But Chirrut figured Baze didn't want to hear about that. 

"Just what I thought," Chirrut murmured. He felt Baze's head pop up. 

"What??" His voice was thick, on the verge of another crying jag. 

"Oh! I just mean..." chirrut paused, collecting his thoughts. He had to word this the right way, otherwise Baze's tenuous grip on capital C Calm might slip away again. 

"I thought," Chirrut began again, "that you'd be every bit as handsome as you were with your long hair, and I was right." He smiled gently down at Baze, who responded with a quick, breathless laugh. 

"Fuck... I thought you were going to tell me you hated it...." Baze murmured, pressing his cheek against Chirrut's chest and closing his eyes. He paused. 

"I'm sorry Chi, but I... I don't think I can like it." His breath was shaky, but he wasn't crying anymore. A good sign. Chirrut pulled him closer, kissed Baze's temple. 

"No one said you had to, sweetheart," he said softly, brushing his fingertips over the scar on Baze's cheekbone. "And it grows like a weed. You'll be my warrior prince again in no time- not that you aren't, still." 

A good save, Chirrut felt the smile forming on Baze's lips as he pressed them against Chirrut's neck. 

"Thank you." 

Chirrut had always been good wth words.


End file.
